


Silvermoon's Sparkling

by pmastamonkmonk



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Cajun Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Language Barrier, M/M, Mermaid Angel Dust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:15:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24241921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmastamonkmonk/pseuds/pmastamonkmonk
Summary: Radiodust Week 2020 with each prompt centering around a kiss.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 296





	1. Day One: Cooking

“Okay but I need-“

“Nope.”

“Al, I just-“

“Nope.”

Angel Dust groaned, continuing to stir at the pot as Alastor stood and watched. Drumming his free fingers on the table top, he kept stirring. “Can _you_ give me my drink, then?”

Alastor looked thoughtful for a moment and Angel Dust’s glower darkened. Laughing, he leaned back, picking up the wine glass from its place on the kitchen island and placing it in the spider’s free hand.

Taking a sip, Angel Dust looked down into the pot where the roux was slowly starting to darken. “Don’t know why I couldn’t just get it myself…” 

“A roux ain’t hard, cher, but it _is_ particular. You can’t be doin’ nothin’ else but that. If you burn it, you can’t fix it, gotta start all over.”

Angel Dust considered how long he’d been stirring already and grimaced, “Yeah, okay, don’t wanna do that.”

Alastor smirked, glancing into the pot as Angel Dust stirred, “Now, see how dark that’s gotten? Like good milk chocolate, that’s just whatcha want.”

“Add the vegetables, right?” Angel Dust reached for the cutting board where the diced trinity sat, tipping it into the roux as he stirred, leaning back at the cloud of steam that billowed up.

“That’s why we call that Louisana Napalm,” Alastor laughed as Angel Dust winced, trying to see through the steam as he kept stirring. “Hot like molten sugar, gonna cook that real quick so you gotta move fast, only needs a minute or two ‘fore you add in the stock.”

“Right,” Angel Dust huffed, a spare arm already reaching for the large jug of stock as the onion and pepper softened in the scalding heat. He eyed it carefully, trying to remember how it had looked when Alastor had demonstrated the week before, pouring the stock in and stirring.

“ _C’est parfait!”_ Alastor crowed, “Now y’just season it and let it go for around an hour, gotta cook the roux out ‘fore you add in the meat.”

Sighing in relief, Angel Dust wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, reaching for the pepper grinder with another. “Grind til my arm gives out and then two more, right?”

“Jus’ like mama always said,” Alastor’s tone was soft and proud and Angel Dust preened, grinding away while his now free hands stirred in a generous amount of salt.

Lowering the heat, he watched the mixture bubble, sighing in relief and throwing his head back with a deep breath. “An’ here I thought ma’s ragu was a pain in the ass.”

“Ah, but your mama’s recipe was delicious,” Alastor sighed fondly, remembering the heaping plate of pasta from a few nights previous. “That’s a recipe I’ll be glad t’learn.”

Angel Dust giggled and Alastor tilted his head in confusion. “Your accent,” he explained, eyes crinkling as he tried to stifle his laughter, “it’s _real_ thick right now. It’s cute.”

“Oh?” Alastor’s eyes flashed, stepping into Angel Dust’s space and looping an arm around his waist. Still giggling, Angel Dust allowed himself to be leaned back in a facsimile of a dip.“ _Tu es mignon. Ton sourire est magnifique, ton rire est beau, je suis l’homme le plus chanceux de l’enfer!”_

Angel Dust raised a hand in an attempt to cover his face as he flushed pink, “I have no idea what you’re even sayin’ but I know it’s embarrassin’’.”

Humming out a laugh, Alastor reached up and pulled Angel Dust’s hand down, lacing their fingers together, leaning even closer. “ _Tu es parfait et je t’adore.”_

Flushed pink, Angel Dust huffed, but the smile on his face betrayed how much he was enjoying the attention. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a parfait, too.”

He pressed a kiss to the corner of Alastor’s mouth, surprised when Alastor tilted his head to kiss him properly. Recovering quickly, he threaded his fingers through the short fuzz at the nape of Alastor’s neck, clutching at the few strands of longer hair that fell into his grasp, arching up into his hold.

Pulling back far too soon, Alastor smirked down at him, watching as Angel Dust licked his lower lip, face flushed for a completely different reason and eyes sparkling.

“Fuck, we are so makin’ jambalaya every day if this is what it gets me.”

Alastor threw his head back and laughed.


	2. Day Two: Mermaid AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Crossover/Alternate Universe.
> 
> It's Mermay so why not a pirate/mermaid AU?
> 
> Hover over the Italian for English translations!

Alastor rested his forearm over his eyes in an attempt to shield himself from the blinding sun. He could feel the burn of his face, the way the salt of the air clung to his hair and skin, the tightness of his body from the onset of dehydration.

Two days had passed since the sinking of the _Cerf Rouge_ at the hands of English marines. As cannonballs had ripped through her sides, he’d found himself thrown overboard and after treading waters laden with the corpses of his shipmates, he’d happened upon a lone lifeboat bobbing amongst the waves. The flaming wreckage floating around him filled the air with a thick cloud of acrid smoke, disguising his escape as cannon fire melded with the panicked screams he left behind. 

He’d rowed for hours the first day, charting the passing of the sun and, at night, the stars to guide him across the wide expanse of open ocean. He knew, however, that he was days from any sign of land at even his fastest pace and barring a sudden freak storm, the cloudless sky told him he was days from fresh water as well.

The soft lapping of briny waves against the side of the boat and the gentle rocking it caused was somewhat soothing despite the direness of his situation.

Letting out a deep sigh, he did the only thing he could think of.

“ _La mer… qu’on voit danser… le long des golfes clairs… a des reflects d’argent la mer….”_

He sang loudly and clearly, out into the empty expanse that surrounded him, finger tapping idly against the gurgling of hunger that echoed from his belly. He missed the sound of something surfacing just next to his boat, didn’t see the flash of platinum blonde or the shimmer of iridescent pink scales.

“ _…et d’une chanson d’amour la mer… a bercé mon coeur… pour la vie…“_

“ _È_ _carino, cosa significa?”_

Bolting upright and wincing at the head rush that resulted, Alastor blinked dazedly at the creature clutching the side of his boat.

Large, pink eyes looked at him from a face just strange enough to obviously not be human, two pairs of three smaller eyes just below, glassy and pupiless. Despite the length of the wavy platinum blonde hair, its features appeared masculine, a dappled pattern of pink scales on its temples and cheekbones, shifting aqua in the sunlight. Sharp, shark like teeth flashed as it smiled, and as its long, fishlike tail treaded the water to keep it in place, he could see what appeared to be a second set of arms jutting out where the bottom of its ribcage should be.

“I’m hallucinating.”

The creature – mermaid his brain helpfully supplied through its dehydrated stupor – tilted its head. “ _Non capisco. Canterai ancora?”_

_“_ I’ve got the ocean madness, this is the end for me.” Alastor sighed, slumping onto the seat despondently. He was jolted by a vigorous rocking of the boat, grasping for purchase and staring at the merman in horror as it attempted to clamber onboard.

“ _"Follia? Sei pazzo?_ _È_ _per questo che sei qui tutto solo?”_

“No, no, what are you doing, stop it-“ Alastor rocked forward as the mermaid attempted again, managing to smack their faces together in a facsimile of a kiss as his balance was lost. The mermaid didn’t seem to mind, the tongue snaking out and tracing Alastor’s mouth warm and briny as the human wrenched himself backwards, eyes wide and face flushing for reasons other than the blistering sun.

Settled back in the water, the mermaid looked up at him in confusion as the boat rocked back and forth, brows knit up. “ _… Stai bene? Sei malato? Sei molto rossa.”_

_“Malato…”_ Alastor stared at the creature, realizing through dripping clothing and tingling lips that if he was hallucinating, it was exceptionally vivid and he was far too deep to crawl himself out now. “ _Mala…_ sick? Yes. Yes, I am sick! I need water, _fresh, clean_ water.”

The mermaid tilted its head and let out a low trill, frowning. Alastor leaned over the side, sinking his hand into the ocean and splashing.

“Salt. Not good.” He mimed drinking it and coughing, shaking his head.

“ _Pas bon…? Ah, sale non va bene? Torno subito!”_

With that, the mermaid sank under the water and Alastor could see it rapidly swimming away, disappearing into the distance with a flash of pink beneath the waves.

He reached forward before catching himself, slumping back onto his seat with a gentle rock. Scanning the horizon, he laughed, shaking his head and running fingers through his salt crusted hair. “I’m going insane… did I just imagine kissing a mermaid? They don’t exist. They’re fairy tales. This is my brain trying to find any way out of this hopeless situation… ahhh I’m to be food for the gulls, how upsetting.”

Drifting, he watched the passage of the sun in the sky, tracking the hours and contemplating if drinking the salt water would be worth the quicker death if not just in an attempt to slake his thirst.

“ _Lo ho dell’acqua! Acqua pulita, senza sale!”_

Lurching up, Alastor peered over the side of the just as the mermaid lugged a sizable glass bottle over the side and onto his lap. Grunting at the heft of it bruising his thighs, Alastor lifted it to find it full of sparkling water.

“Water…” he pulled the cork free, taking a deep inhale from the neck of the bottle and reveling in the lack of salt tingling his nose. Without hesitation he threw it back, taking deep mouthfuls and not coming up for air until it was half empty. Gasping for breath, he looked to the mermaid who was watching him curiously. “Where did you get this?”

The creature’s brows knit and its head tilted. “ _Acqua.” _He pointed at the bottle.

“Where?” Alastor said slowly, enunciating. “Where did it come from?”

“ _Doo-vee?”_ the creature repeated, narrowing its eyes. “ _Vuoi dire ‘dove’?”_ it raised one if its second arms, pointing in the direction it had swam off before. “ _Un’isola in quel modo.”_

Alastor sighed deeply, regretting his disinterest in other languages during his schooling. “Isola… isolate? …Island? There’s an island?” He craned his neck, eyes squinted and peering into the horizon where he saw nothing but endless blue. The mermaid had been gone for hours, the sun showing it to be late afternoon… he could row but there was no telling it was a straight path and he could end up even further off course especially once night fell.

Looking down at his feet at a length of rope, he got an idea. 

“Can you bring me?”

“ _Ap-poor-tay?”_ frowning in confusion, the creature looked thoughtful. “ _Apoor… ‘portarmi’? Vuoi andarci?”_

_“Isola.”_ Alastor pointed to the water jug and in the vague direction of the island, holding up the rope. “ _Isola_.” He pointed at the mermaid, “You. Bring.” He pointed back to himself. “Me.” He pointed back out into the ocean, “ _Isola_.”

The mermaid seemed to understand, accepting the rope and allowing Alastor to tie the end to the front of the lifeboat.

“ _Posso portarti sull’isola… ma non ci sono altre persone lì. Canterai per me se ti porti?”_

“Canter… sing? You want me to sing?”

The mermaid’s mouth opened wide as it over enunciated, its sharp teeth shining. “ _Can-ter-ai.”_

“ _Chanter_.” Alastor replied, drumming his fingers on the edge of the boat before sighing. In for a penny and all that... “ _La mer… qu’on voit danser…. long des golfes clairs…”_

Beaming happily, the mermaid tugged on the rope and began swimming. The ride was choppy, thrashing Alastor around as if the seas were stormy instead of calm as the mermaid struggled to drag him. Despite the rough go, he continued to sing, cycling through every tune that came to mind as the sun sank lower and lower and day faded into dusk.

“ _Avec mes souvenirs… j’ai allumé le feu… mes chagrins mes plaisirs, je n’ai plus besoin d’eux…”_

He trailed off as the shadow of land grew on the horizon, the fading sunlight casting it in a dull orange glow as he dissolved into cackling laughter.

“Land! It’s right there! I can’t believe it! Land!” he whooped happily,

The mermaid resurfaced for a moment, snorting. “ _È solo terra e rocce…. Non co_ s _ì eccitante_.“

Alastor was too excited to parse the words, cheering and carrying on until they drifted into the shallows. Throwing himself over into the water, Alastor gave another excited whoop at the feeling of sand under his feet, treading onto the beach and falling onto his knees. He dug his hands deep into the soft sand, laughing ecstatically and falling onto his back as relief flooded his system.

After what felt like hours but was surely only a few minutes, Alastor rose and walked back down to the edge of the water where the mermaid sat expectantly. In the fading twilight he could see pink markings lighting up on the creature’s torso and tail, flashing patterns that were almost hypnotizing.

“Thank you. For bringing me here.”

The mermaid tilted his head and Alastor again cursed their language barrier as it slipped under the water again. Looking around, he sighed, unable to seeing only the briefest flashes of light in the darkening water, unable to track the creature’s movements and quickly losing sight of it. Turning his gaze inland, he could see a thick tree line at the top of the beach and knew exploring would be a poor idea in the dark; he’d have to find food in the morning.

Sitting down in the still warm sand, feet lapped by the tide, he relaxed for the first time in two days.

Only to be struck in the chest by a fish.

“ _Se ti porto da mangiare, canterai du nuovo?”_

Boggling at the mermaid, Alastor looked at the fish flopping uselessly in the sand before turning his gaze back towards the water. “You brought me a fish…and want me to sing?”

“ _Non mangi pesce? Se non lo fermi se ne andrà.”_

Alastor threw his head back and laughed much to the mermaid’s obvious befuddlement, catching the fish by the tail as it hit the water and throwing it further up the beach.

“And here I thought it was mermaids that were supposed to sing.”

Alastor leaned back as the mermaid lurched forward, their faces close and the glow of its facial markings radiating onto him. “ _Non chiamarmi sirena, sono Angel!”_

_“_ Angel?” Alastor replied, blinking rapidly as the mermaid’s tail slapped in the water, its four arms braced in the sand on either side of him. “Angel. I’m Alastor… thank you for the fish?”

Angel stared, scanning Alastor’s face with his eight eyes, salt water dripping from his hair and down the sharp planes of his cheeks. Alastor swallowed thickly as Angel’s lips parted, the flash of sharp white tinted pink by bioluminescence in the split second it took to lean forward and kiss him again. Unable to do much but sit there wide eyed, Alastor allowed it, thankful that the creature kept its tongue to itself this time.

“ _Mangia il tuo pesce e po canta per me. Domani ti mostrerò l’acqua pulita.”_ Angel licked his lips, finally leaning back and sliding into the water. When Alastor made no move to get up or retrieve the fish, it growled. “ _Mangiare! Mangia e canta! Devo mostrarti come un bambino? Sarai un marito inutile.”_

“Useless?” Alastor boggled before his eyes widened. “ _Husband_? What-“

Angel laughed, diving under the water and out of sight as Alastor called after him. Charlie had been right, humans were quite entertaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian and French share a lot of core words but are just different enough to make the language barrier frustrating but crossable and I wanted to explore that. Alastor is, for all intents and purposes, speaking French throughout - but obviously having ALL the dialogue in a foreign language would get real tedious real quick.
> 
> I took inspiration from the 1997 YA Novel Sirena by Donna Jo Napoli and like to think that the two spent many years together on the deserted island, well fed, well watered, and well spirited.
> 
> Alastor sings La Mer by Charles Trénet and also Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien by Edith Piaf


	3. Day Three: Angst

“Holy fuck that’s a fuck ton of files,” Angel Dust whistled, drawing Alastor’s attention up from the cabinet he was crouched in front of, thumbing through the bottom drawer. The music filtering through the ether around him skipped a beat, though Alastor would rather eat a fifties style frozen dinner than admit he’d been startled. 

“Angel Dust, what brings you down here? I was under the impression you had plans with your sister this afternoon.”

“She had to reschedule.” The reason why was unspoken, but Alastor had a fairly decent idea. “Chacha said you were in the basement and I got nosey,” Angel Dust replied, looking around the cavernous basement as he approached. “Didn’t even think this joint _had_ a basement, figured there’d be old furniture or a dead body or something, ’not the library of congress, jesus fuck.” He eyed the open drawer in front of Alastor curiously, “You lookin’ for somethin’ in all this mess?”

Alastor inclined his head. “Charlie requested I find a certain file at the behest of her father. I’ve spent the morning perusing with little luck.”

Angel Dust watched as he continued to flick through the files, “They still keep paper files? Surprised they haven’t upgraded, bougie bastards that they are.”

“They have, however these are hard copies from before the system switched to computers. According to Charlie they were never transferred when the new system was adopted around… oh, sixty-six? Sixty-seven? These records most likely don’t go much later than that.”

“Wait.” Alastor glanced up at the horrified tone in Angel Dust’s voice. “People actually advance technology as it comes out? Al, I don’t wanna worry you… but that means you can get a smart phone. Or listen to music made after 1938!”

Giving him an unimpressed look, Alastor continued to flick through the expanse of files in the drawer before him.

He paused at the sound of an ear splitting screech as Angel Dust opened a drawer in the cabinet adjacent and pulled a file out at random. “Ain’t it weird to leave this shit here that long? I thought Chacha said her pops was only lettin’ her use this joint cause it’s been abandoned for decades?”

“This was the palace before the new one was built, it is still warded under Magne Family protection meaning they were quite safe to be left alone. You’ve been here six months and weren’t even aware there was a basement. There’s an enchantment to ward people away, makes it appear as if it doesn’t even exist.”

Angel Dust hummed at that, looking over the worn manila folder in his hands. The tab read _Miles, John_ , though the label itself was faded with age and curling up on one corner, and he glanced at the rest of the drawer, noting many of the files had worn out labels, some so faded it was impossible to read the names at all. Flipping the folder open he found a single piece of paper.

“Well, that ain’t wasteful at all,” he muttered, eyes roving over the neatly typed page. “Name… date and time of death… cause of death…” his brow knit and he looked down at Alastor in surprise. “That’s what all this shit is? They keep records of this?”

“Lucifer is the king of hell and what is hell but mindless bureaucracy at its finest?” Alastor replied, eyes half lidded and smile serene. “Mundane and seemingly useless information stored for eons…” he gestured at the seemingly endless filing cabinets stretching down the length of the basement. "Though it's the seemingly useless that always tends to be the most important, I've found."

“Final thought… _I wish I’d seen Paris.”_ Angel Dust read off slowly. “Wait… how do they know your final thought?”

Alastor hummed, fingers dancing over folders and eyes flittering over each name as quickly as possible. “How do they know anything about a sinner, my dear? Best not to think too hard on it.” He tsked, shutting the drawer with another screech before rising and moving onto the next cabinet. Angel Dust watched as a red sigil appeared on the cabinet and glanced back, able to see two or so dozen bearing similar markings before looking down at the plethora yet to be touched.

“Surprised you ain’t usin’ your voodoo bullshit to do it faster.”

“Lucifer has wards against magic inside the cabinets as another layer of protection. I can mark the ones I’ve looked at to keep track, but the second a drawer is open there’s not much that can be done.” Alastor replied and Angel Dust could easily pick up the threads of irritation lacing his voice after months of them being directed his way. “No, must search the old fashioned way, which is quite tedious as the filing system is just as abysmal as I assumed it would be.”

“What d’ya mean? You got a name, just track down the letter and start there, right?” Angel Dust closed the folder and plucked another at random. “ _Wish I’d spent more time in the museums.”_ He glanced up at the name, _Torrance, Stephanie,_ and his eyes narrowed, picking up his first folder and looking at the drawer curiously. “It’s not alphabetical? The fuck? They just throw this shit in here at random? How you gonna find anything if it ain't organized?”

“Oh, it’s organized.” Alastor scowled as much as he could while still smiling widely, closing another drawer and moving to the next. “They categorize by last thought. Lucifer’s brilliant idea.” He pulled out a folder with a heavily distressed label, glancing inside before replacing it. “How can one even categorize by something so intangible with any sort of actual system is beyond me…”

Angel Dust glanced at the seemingly endless filing cabinets lining the walls, racking his brain as he considered how many files were seemingly in each drawer. “You can’t look through every single one, it’ll take forever…” he looked back at Stephanie’s folder, head tilting thoughtfully. “Do you even know the last thought of the guy you were lookin’ for?”

“I don’t. Which category are you in?”

Angel Dust replaced the folder and pulled out another. “ _Why did I go during the rainy season?”_ He turned it to Alastor, “Last thoughts about travelin’? Maybe?” He picked up another one. “ _Should have taken the train to Barcelona._ Yeah… I travel regrets? You think the guy’s a globe trotter?”

“No idea.” Alastor replied, moving onto another cabinet.

Angel Dust watched him for a second before heaving a sigh, rolling his eyes skyward. "Hey, uh... you want some help?"

Alastor raised an eyebrow.

"More hands make less work, right? And I got plentya those!" Angel Dust laughed at his poor joke, holding his four main arms out and wiggling his fingers. "Plus, an extra set of eyes or four will make it easier, right? Think you can stomach havin' me around without any liquor easin' the way?"

Contemplating him, Alastor finally shrugged, turning back to the cabinet he was searching through. “As long as you’re here, you may as well assist, I suppose. It’s an Eric Gordon I’m looking for.” He snapped his fingers and a post-it note appeared, fluttering out of the air and into Angel Dust's hand. The spider recognized Charlie's girly handwriting anywhere, peering closely at the name.

“Eric Gordon. Got it,” Angel Dust replied, the post it note disappearing with a puff of smoke. Blinking a few times, he heard the familiar bars of a Jimmy Rodgers song begin to filter through the air. “But if I’m spendin’ my day down here helpin’ you, we’re listenin’ to summa _my_ music, too.”

Alastor grimaced, watching as Angel Dust fiddled with his smart phone before sighing and dutifully allowing silence to fall. It was quickly replaced by the tiny speakers of the device and even moreso cut off the another snap of Alastor's fingers, the music becoming much louder and clearer through his personal air waves.

“If I must listen to your dreadful noise, it might as well be in a quality worth hearing.”

Angel Dust laughed at that, turning his attention to the cabinet in front of him and setting to work.

For several hours, they searched, the sound of clicking heels on cement and the flutter of paper melding with the assortment of music playing through Alastor’s air waves. Every so often Angel Dust would make a quip about a file he had found, resulting in a tangent discussion similar to the evenings they spent at Husker’s bar.

It was an easy sort of rapport they had built after their rocky start so many months ago, and Alastor found himself enjoying the time despite the mundanity of the task at hand. But as the hours passed, Alastor vaguely noted Angel Dust getting quieter and quieter, his comments fewer and farther between, and eventually he noted that the other man wasn’t even singing along to the music despite Alastor consciously playing only from his device for the last half hour.

Alastor was about to interject some sort of comment when Angel Dust suddenly spoke.

“Why they keep this stuff, you think?”

Hesitating just a moment, Alastor made a questioning noise as he pulled a file for a cursory look before replacing it and continuing his search.

“Some sinners don’t last more than a minute once they get down here, they hit a circle at the wrong time and get wasted by someone bigger or stronger… or if they’re real unlucky, they’ll pop up right into an Extermination.” Angel Dust pulled another file out, looking at it briefly and Alastor could see his eyes focus on the bottom text for a long moment before finally closing it and putting it back. “Do they keep records of those poor schmucks?”

“Looking at the sheer number down here I would assume so, my dear.”

“Yeah, but why do I need to know that…” he pulled out another folder, “ _Michelle DuBois_ died in Milwaukee and wishes she’d watched Casablanca? This shit is so random. Most sinners don’t even go by their human names down here, who cares where they died? How they died? What's the _point_?”

“It is not our place to question, I suppose,” Alastor shrugged, closing another drawer with a huff and moving on. “Probably the same reason they organize all of it like imbeciles. This cabinet appears to be regrets about sports… ah,” he paused, brow knitting. “And they consider yachting a sport, should _Jake Carson_ ’s last thought about wishing he’d chosen a better name for his boat be believed.”

His goal was levity, but Angel Dust didn’t take the bait and after a few moments of silence, Alastor went back to searching, figuring the conversation had reached its natural conclusion and there would be quiet for another hour or so until he found something else to comment on.

“Why organize at all when it’s all the same?”

Alastor looked up without moving his head, watching as Angel Dust pulled out another file, frowning as he read over the interior and again focusing on the bottom of the file.

“It’s all… regrets.” His voice was soft, contemplative and Alastor finally tilted his head to look at him fully though Angel Dust didn’t seem to notice. “Regretting doin’ stuff, not doin’ stuff, sayin’ stuff… _not_ sayin’ stuff…” he was still staring at the bottom of the file in his hand. “Regretting being alone…”

_Mike Eisner_ from Cincinatti’s final thoughts stared at him in soulless capital typed font. _Will there be anyone waiting for me._

“In the end… so many people feel alone.” He closed the folder and put it back in the drawer with a sigh. “I guess when the reaper comes all you have left is regrets.”

Alastor watched as Angel Dust stared at the files, feeling that the other man wasn’t really speaking to him anymore.

“And then you find yourself here… just as alone as you were when you left.”

Alastor wasn't stupid enough to assume that he truly knew Angel Dust despite the tentative camaraderie they had begun to share. Despite his loud, brash personality, Angel Dust surprisingly kept his cards close to his chest, and it had taken quite a while for Alastor to really see the cracks on the porn star's flawless facade. Numerous nights talking over cocktails and bourbon, bruises blooming as hours passed from an evening under Valentino's care and lips growing looser as liquor flowed. Stories of an abusive father, a negligent mother... ignorant siblings, contemptuous lovers... a life of a social pariah, of solitude broken up with diversion and vice, nights of blacked out stupors and days seeking his next hit in any way he could.

Each tale was told with a laugh and a smile as if recounting a fond, funny memory, but the more Alastor heard the more he could see the darkness peeking through and the more curious he became. Too many small details pieced together into misaligned pictures that didn't fit with the image Angel Dust showed the world at large.

Alastor felt like he'd been given a wide crack to look through in this moment of quiet candor, but wasn't quite sure what to do with the opportunity.

“Do you remember your last thought?”

Angel Dust blinked before looking up at him. He seemed caught off guard by the question but it didn’t take long for his usual smirk to cross his face. "Why, you lookin' to cross somethin' off my bucket list?" He put the file back in the drawer. “My last thought? Following this trend? Probably regretted taking so much PCP,” he gave a deep exhale through his nose, the barest hint of a laugh before glancing a few cabinets down and smiled. "Regretted not eatin' more of my ma's pasta when I had the chance like poor Reginald down there." His smile fell and he ran his tongue over his teeth before starting to flick through the folders again. "Maybe you’ll find my folder in here somewhere and we can find out, huh?”

“Hard to do not knowing your real name. For all I know I’ve passed it already.”

“Same for you, you died before I did, means you’re floating in one of these cabinets.” Angel Dust peered at him before giving a lop sided grin. “But you don’t look much like an Eric.”

Another few minutes passed, the song changing from some sort of bouncing pop monstrosity to a more sedated song that still wavered with the tightness of the electronic but that Alastor found much more tolerable.

“It’s Ragno, by the way.” Alastor tilted his head, looking at him expectantly. “That’s my family name... There was a decent amount of us, Catholic, y’know? So I won’t make it too easy by givin’ my first name. You’ll just have to get lucky on that one.”

“Well, it’s surprisingly not a name I recognize so far,” Alastor laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood, “but I have many files left to look through... a little side quest to my main goal, how entertaining! You’ll of course let me know if you find it yourself to make things fair?”

"You know it, doll face." Angel Dust opened another drawer with a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes and Alastor stared for a moment before returning to his own search without responding.

The afternoon waned on, the only telling of the passage of time in the windowless basement the path Alastor and Angel Dust took as they went cabinet by cabinet. With each passing drawer Alastor grew more frustrated, glancing up every so often to see Angel Dust dutifully searching his own, though the slump of his shoulders seemed to grow every time he looked.

The silence between them was finally broken by the chiming of Angel Dust’s phone just as he closed a drawer. “It’s Chacha checkin’ in… damn, that late already? We’ve been down here almost eight hours, fuck my phone’s only at like six percent...” He groaned, stretching his arms out and cracking his back audibly before observing the impressive amount of cabinets they’d already searched, the glowing red icons stark against the black metal. “You cool if I head upstairs? Unlike you overlords, some of us need to actually eat food and sleep.”

Alastor had paused, looking over a file in his hand with a faded name label, finger tip poised at the bottom of the page.

“Hey, Al,”

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he shut the file, returning it to the drawer and continuing along the rest. “Yes, my dear?”

Angel Dust peered at him, raising an eyebrow before shaking his head with a fond smile. “Don’t stay down here all night, weirdo. You want me to have Nifty bring down some dinner?”

Alastor beamed, “Not necessary, darling, but I appreciate the thought! I’ll have to buy you a drink as thanks for your assistance today – you were quite the help.”

“Suckin' dick ain't the only thing I'm good at... but you know that offer still stands!” Blowing a kiss with a cheeky wink, Angel Dust turned and headed towards the stairs, arms folded behind his head and poised on his hips. “I’ll hold you to that drink, Smiles, you better order me some top shelf shit!”

Alastor watched as Angel Dust disappeared up the stairs, the sound of his heels clicking up the creaking wood as he ascended. Letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, Alastor only moved when he heard the basement door shut and the sound of footsteps above fade away.

It took a moment to find the file again, pulling it out and reading over the single page inside.

_Ragno, Anthony. December 28, 1947. New York City, New York._

Inconsequential information, really. He’d died of an overdose of PCP just as mentioned… Nothing he didn't already know or wouldn't have been able to ask about himself, and he felt somewhat hollow at the thought that he hadn't cared to ask.

His gaze focused on the final thought in bold capital letters on the bottom of the form as he contemplated the man that was quickly over taking most of his considerations and driving him to distraction. He wondered, somewhat hollowly, if this thought had followed him into the afterlife – into Valentino’s studio – into the hotel…

He closed the file and put it back, sliding the drawer shut and moving onto the next cabinet. He still had many cabinets left to search.

With a crackle of radio static, jazz began to filter out of the ether before the tone shifted to the soft electronic buzz of the music Angel Dust had played.

He’d take Angel Dust for that drink in a few days after he’d had time to really think about their last few interactions and why those seven words and their owner had such an effect on him.

_Why has no one ever loved me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who rewatched Dead Like Me! The episode Vacation and the character Daisy Adair always stuck with me and I see a lot of her in Angel Dust. I loved the idea of "last thoughts" and I wanted to avoid doing the standard Angel Dust gets his ass kicked by someone and Alastor's a knight in shining armor or vice versa for the angst part, so I figured some emotional heart pulling would suffice for angst. Hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Day Four: First Time

Alastor glanced up as Angel Dust slid onto the barstool next to him. The other man barely gave him a wave before asking Husk for a drink and resting his chin in two of his hands, eyes closed. He stared, for once seeing not a trace of pink or glitter on the other man’s fur, no makeup or products, just the sleek, soft shine of white. There were bags under his eyes and the fluff that made up his usually… buxom chest was deflated and barely poking up from the neckline of his oversized and threadbare sweater, yet still, he looked… softer than usual, in an almost intangible way.

He looked comfortable, but also… exceptionally uncomfortable at the same time.

“You look run down, kid,” Husker huffed, placing the cocktail and a glass of water in front of the spider. “You sick or somethin’?”

“Sick of your shit,” Angel Dust snarked back, throwing the cocktail back in one shot and taking a long sip of water, hand running over his face with a sigh. “Haven’t slept yet. Val had me out since last night and I’m exhausted.”

“Then what the hell’re ya drinkin’ for? Go t’bed, you look like shit.”

“Well, fuck you too.”Angel Dust scowled, shoulders hunching self consciously as he awkwardly attempted to fluff his fur up. “I took a shower and wanted a drink before crashin’. Y’think I want you assholes to see me like this? I _know_ I look like shit.”

“Husker, my good fellow, don’t be rude.” Alastor tutted. “I think Angel Dust looks just dandy this evening.”

Husker snorted, rolling his eyes and muttering something that sounded a lot like ‘kiss ass’. Angel Dust pouted, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. “Y’don’t haveta lie, Al, I know I look like a train wreck without my face on.”

“Why I would never,” Alastor grinned, ignoring Husker as the feline sneered at him. “Of course you’re quite the Sheba with your usual flash and flair, but there’s much to be said for allowing your natural beauty to do the talking.”

Angel Dust stared, brows knitting up in confusion and, after a moment, Alastor was surprised to see the other man flush bright pink. Laughing softly, Angel Dust finished his water, shaking his head as he stood up.

“Thanks, Al, you’re sweet.”

Alastor picked up his own glass of bourbon, taking a sip and opening his mouth to continue his previous conversation with Husker, interrupted by the press of a kiss to his cheek.

It was a surprisingly chaste gesture from someone Alastor identified with brash proposals of oral sex. He wasn’t given a chance to comment or even react at all, Angel Dust slipping away in the direction of the elevator with an obviously exhausted slant to his frame.

Two days later when Alastor finally caught sight of him again, far earlier in the day than he’d usually appear, he noticed that while Angel Dust had put on makeup, it was much more subdued than usual and his outfit far less flashy.

And though he complimented the other man’s appearance without a thought, he’d slit his own throat before admitting that the resulting smile made his heart skip a beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was being clever dodging the obvious sex reference to the prompt but everyone else has got me beat on that! My aim was "that first time you let the guy you're crushing on see you without make up and he still thinks you're fine AF" sort of vibe. I had another idea that I just couldn't flesh out the way I wanted, but maybe some day...


	5. Day Five: Intimacy

Alastor still did not quite understand Angel Dust’s insistence on ‘cuddling’ but it was not enough of an imposition that he would deny the other man the small allowance into his personal space. Angel Dust was quite respectful of Alastor’s distaste for more intimate acts and it was no burden to allow the other man close contact with him for extended periods of time.

In fact, while he usually found the touch of others to be almost repulsive, he surprisingly found Angel Dust’s physical touch to be actually quite welcome. The spider was respectful of boundaries, never pushy or forceful, and he never got upset when Alastor extricated himself after becoming ‘touched out’ – something Angel Dust explained to him with obvious first had experience.

Which was why Alastor had no complaints with his current situation, resting on the couch with Angel Dust curled up against his side while the rain outside battered the roof and windows of the hotel. The spider’s long legs were thrown over his lap, an arm curled around his waist while Alastor idly thumbed through a novel he’d been reading, head tilted to accommodate the fingers combing through his hair.

Angel Dust’s alternated between scratching at the shorter fuzz of his undercut and running his finger tips up through the longer strands to rub the base of his antlers. The feeling was quite nice, he could admit, and he found himself relaxing into the spider’s hold with every passing minute.

Angel Dust’s fingers started combing his hair backwards and letting it fall forward again, the soft ends brushing against his cheeks with every stroke. Until they didn’t and Alastor’s gaze rose from his book without moving his head. He could feel tugging at the roots of his hair, not hard enough to hurt, but a strange sensation none the less, and after a few more pulls Angel Dust’s hands slipped free.

“Ooh,” the spider cooed, “look at that handsome face.” A clawed finger delicately traced down from his temple to his chin, “You’ve got a jawline for _days_.”

Alastor closed his book on his thumb to hold his place, reaching up behind him to find his hair pulled into a short stub of a ponytail.

“Really?” he asked flatly.

Angel Dust pressed a kiss to the delicate hinge of his jaw and Alastor felt his heart skip a beat when the spider hummed. “I think it’s cute.”

“I’m not supposed to be cute.”

Resting his chin on Alastor’s shoulder and batting large doe eyes up at him, Angel Dust smiled. “You ever think’a growin’ it out?”

Alastor pointedly opened his book again. “No.”

“Aww… but you’d look super hot. Like _super_ hot… c’mon, like… six inches?”

"No."

"...Two inches."

“Only asking for two inches?” Alastor hummed. “What _will_ your fans think…”

Angel Dust snickered, pressing another kiss to his jaw before settling down again. Pulling out his phone, he began idly swiping through apps and messages as a spare hand scratched at the short hair at the nape of Alastor’s neck.

Alastor flipped another page, head tilting ever so slightly to allow Angel Dust easier access.

Perhaps he could push his next trim back a few months… he was quite busy with the hotel after all.


	6. Day Six: Partners in Crime

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Husker hissed, eyes narrowed as he looked across the tabletop to Alastor.

The overlord narrowed his eyes in turn, head tilting ever so slightly before reaching forward.

“This is fucking _bullshit_ ,” Husker snarled, watching as Alastor placed the robber on his most lucrative tile. “That was the only ore I’m on with the whole damn board! You even took the fuckin’ ore port!”

“Shouldn’t have prioritized sheep, I suppose.” Alastor replied, setting down a brick and wood card and placing another extension onto his road. "Hmm... not quite long enough."

Charlie smiled, tapping the card in front of her, “I won’t let you get longest road too easy, Alastor.” Accepting the dice, she rolled, frowning when they came up with ten. “Oh, darnit…”

“Fuck yeah, gimme some wheat and ore, bitch.” Angel Dust reached for the resources with a grin while Nifty gathered her own. “Wait, Al, I got a big house on the ore? That means I get two, right?”

“Yes, my dear, and the small one just there gets you one as well, so you can have three.”

“Nice.”

Vaggie sighed, “Why do I always end up on the desert tile…?” she accepted the dice from Charlie, rolling and giving a little huff of delight at a four, picking up a sheep card.

Husker didn’t even take the dice before throwing down a Year of Plenty victory card, pulling two ore from the bank. Rolling the dice he cursed, staring daggers at the robber token sitting on the number five ore tile. “We’ve been playin’ for almost an hour, is anyone even close to winning?”

“I have eight points,” Charlie beamed. “I just need a few more resources and to keep my road to win!”

Nifty scowled at her roll, shoving the dice in Angel Dust’s direction without gathering any resources or crafting anything, her hand of three cards pitiful compared to the rest. “Alastor, you and Charlie cut off everywhere I can build! I can't get any resources!”

“Ah, my dear, you know what they say about the road to hell…” his laugh track played as Angel Dust rolled the dice, excitedly gathering a brick card while Vaggie took a sheep.

“Al, you need a brick?”

Alastor turned towards Angel Dust, “Hmm? No, I do not.”

Angel Dust huffed, eyeing the board curiously, finger tips tapping on the table.

“You two better fucking not-“ Husker warned.

“What about wood?” 

Alastor tilted his head, eyebrow raised with interest. “That is something I’d be interested in. How many are you willing to part with?”

“If you got a sheep, I'm happy to give you wood.” Angel Dust he made a kissing motion which was pointedly ignored by Alastor but the rest of their tablemates groaned and rolled their eyes at the display. He held up three cards up between his fingers.

“You can’t do that, it’s not a fair trade!” Vaggie argued.

“I can trade whatever I want for whatever I want, it’s in the rules, bitch.”Angel Dust snatched up the card Alastor slid over before setting down nearly his entire, sizeable hand, purchasing a development card and upgrading a settlement to a city.

“I swear to fucking god, if you assholes have been-“

Alastor rolled the dice, eyes lighting up as he picked up another brick before primly placed down his hand. Building three more sections of road and revealing a victory point next to the 'largest army' card he'd earned early on, he smirked. “I believe longest road now belongs to me and with that the victory.”

Charlie stared at the board, blinking heavily, before throwing her head back and groaning, clawing at her face. “They did it _again_!”

“It’s because you let them sit next to each other!” Husker growled, throwing his hand onto the table and crossing his arms, his fangs bared irritably.

“They didn’t say anything the whole damn game!” Vaggie argued, gesturing at the board. “Everything they did was completely fucking random, Alastor even blocked Angel Dust building stuff there! At least during Monopoly it was obvious they were cheating!”

Nifty leaned over the table, “We were all focused on Alastor because of his road, but Angel Dust was building his, too! He kept getting the most resources and had so many settlements... he was trading with all of us almost every turn, so none of us saw just how much he was giving to Alastor! We were watching the stuff Alastor did without even realizing Angel Dust was the real target the whole time! They pulled a fast one!"

Angel Dust tossed an arm around Alastor’s shoulders, smirking when Alastor’s hand came up to rest atop his own. “Hey, don’t bitch just ‘cause we won.”

“This isn’t a team game, Alastor winning means you lost _too!”_ Vaggie shrieked, pushing away from the table and shouting towards the ceiling in Spanish as she stormed off in the direction of the kitchen while Angel Dust cackled. Husker snarled, stomping away to the bar, muttering under his breath while Charlie and Nifty started cleaning up the pieces with heavy sighs, disassembling the board with ease and packing it away.

Angel Dust snickered, "Damn, think that means we ain't playin' Clue now?"

Alastor lifted Angel Dust’s hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back before returning it to his shoulder with a smile, “Ah... I do so enjoy game night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody hates that couple that colludes during game night but damn if it ain't fun to BE that couple.


	7. Day Seven: Happily Ever After

Angel Dust huffed as he walked up the small set of stairs to the hotel’s front doors. An afternoon of shopping, manicures, and a turf war with Cherri had done a bit to cool his temper but he still found himself scowling as he walked through the lobby made his way towards the elevator.

He was silently happy to see not a soul around as he waited for the elevator doors to open. The argument that morning had been loud - insults and possessions thrown with abandon and he was sure most of it had carried through hallways and doors before he’d stormed off. He knew Vaggie would have something snide to say, Nifty and Husker would pointedly ignore him in a way that made it obvious they were watching, and Charlie…

Charlie would try to fix it. She’d quote self help books and say hollow platitudes, pat his shoulder and force a smile.

And he was just not in the mood for _any_ of that bullshit.

Opening the door, his scowl deepened.

“You came back.”

“It’s _my_ room.” He walked over to the closet, pointedly pulling sweaters and skirts from the shopping bags in his hands and hanging them up with the tags still on. He threw a pair of shoes into the disorganized heap underneath the hanging clothes while Alastor watched, Fat Nuggets resting on his lap. “Look, I really ain’t in the mood to talk so if you could-“

“I don’t want… to leave.” Alastor’s voice was barely a mumble and Angel Dust rolled his eyes to the ceiling, clenching his teeth.

“Well that fuckin’ _sucks_ ‘cause I kinda want you to. We can fight again tomorrow, alright?”

Alastor cleared his throat, “I said I don’t want _you_ to leave…”

“Why the fuck would _I_ leave? It’s _my_ room,” Angel Dust asked, incredulous. He dropped the remaining shopping bags to the floor, turning to face the other man with his hands on his hips. “Which is _filthy_ as you so kindly pointed out this mornin’.”

Alastor flinched at that and Angel Dust’s brow knit up at the reaction. “I…” Alastor sighed, mouth working uselessly for a moment, “I didn’t mean to imply that _you_ were-“

“Yeah, you didn’t really _imply_ it when you called me a stupid whore.”

Alastor bristled. “I said you were _more_ than-“

Angel Dust ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath and rapidly counting back from ten in an effort not to shout. “Al, I don’t wanna fight again…“

“I know it’s… difficult. To be with me.” Alastor finally said, his tone somewhat defeated. “With my many shortcomings. I’m not half as affectionate as you’d like… I can’t… provide you with the… _physical_ things you want but still make so many demands of you. It’s only reasonable that you would decide it’s no longer worth your time…”

Angel Dust stared as Alastor spoke, finally noticing that the other man’s smile was almost nonexistent, barely an upturn at the corners at all.

“Did… did you think I was breakin’ up with you?”

The other man flinched again before clearing his throat. “It would absolutely be your right to do so,” his voice had a false flippancy to it, his training as a radio host kicking in the mask the heavy emotions obviously roiling beneath the surface. “All things considered.”

“Al, I wasn’t gonna…” he trailed off before sighing. “Come here.” Angel Dust motioned for him to rise and Alastor gently dislodged Fat Nuggets from his lap before standing. Without giving him a chance to argue, Angel Dust pulled him into a hug, smushing the other man’s face right into the fluff of his chest and holding it there with a firm hand.

Alastor tensed for a brief moment but didn’t fight it, melting into the hold. Angel Dust sighed, combing his fingers through the short scruff of his undercut and wondering when he’d become the reasonable one of the two of them.

“Did you sit here all day waiting for me to come back ‘cause you thought I was gonna leave you?”

“I thought you had to leave.” Alastor murmured, muffled by the fur in his face. “Couples… when they have an argument, they pack their belongings and leave.”

Angel Dust blinked. “No they… Al, were you watchin’ my shit TV again? Vaggie’s dumbass soaps?”

The Radio Demon didn’t respond which was all the answer Angel Dust needed.

Sighing, he patted the overlord’s back, “Al, I was just takin’ some time to cool off. You don’t break up ‘cause you had a fight or pack up your shit unless like… I dunno, you’re getting’ beat or somethin’. An’ even then, that never really worked on me.”

Alastor gave a small laugh at that but only because Angel Dust had some levity to his tone. The spider ran his fingers back up through Alastor’s hair, feeling the other man’s hands finally come up and rest on his hips.

“Did you really think I was gonna leave cause you told me to clean my room and we yelled a little?”

“You broke your mirror.”

Angel Dust looked across the room to the shattered vanity, the bottles of nail polish he’d hurled just as broken and dried into the carpet.

Nifty would be mad.

“I did… but even if I was gonna break up with you, I still live here? All my shit is here, I was gonna come back.”

“If I was here waiting, I’d catch you leaving.”

“Al…” Angel Dust rolled his eyes with a huff. “Look, Al… I know you ain’t got any experience with any of this shit and I ain’t gonna say I somehow know any better. Pretty sure my track record shows I know jack about any of this stuff… but jus’ ‘cause we had an argument don’t mean we’re breaking up. We just gotta… talk about shit, y’know? Compromise like Chacha’s always talkin’ about. I don’t _like_ fightin’ with you, Al.”

“I… rather dislike fighting with you, as well.”

Angel Dust laughed softly. “Well with the two of us bein’ how we are, I doubt this’ll be the last one. So… how about this? You think before you say shit that could even possibly be considered insultin’ to me… like shit talkin’ about my clothes or my job or how messy my room is, alright? And I’ll try harder to not bite your head off without tellin’ you what you did to set me off.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“I know that.”

“…I’m sorry that I insulted you.”

Angel Dust smiled at that, pressing a kiss to the top of Alastor’s head. “And I’m sorry I threw shit at you and called you worse than Valentino before stormin’ off. You’re not, for the record.”

“I know that.” Angel Dust would never describe Alastor’s voice as petulant where the other man could hear him but there was really no other word for it.

“And if we do fight again… we understand that we ain’t breaking up until we talk about it. Me wantin’ space to not be mad atcha ain’t the same as leavin’ you. And you don’t gotta sit here and wait for me to come back while I do it. We’ll talk it out, say we’re sorry… maybe hug and kiss and go back to normal the next day, alright?”

Angel Dust pointedly pressed another kiss to the top of his head and stepped back.

“And I can tell from your fidgetin’ that you don’t want me huggin’ you right now… so how about you make me some dinner and we can cuddle more before bed?”

Alastor straightened, his Radio Demon persona sliding right back into place. “Splendid idea, my dear! Why I have just the thing in mind, won’t take more than an hour…” after a slight pause of consideration he held out his hand. “And you’ll assist me, of course?”

_Compromise_.

Reaching over, Angel Dust took it, shaking his head fondly. “Who else is gonna cut your vegetables the right way, Smiles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be real... there isn't really "happily ever after" with relationships cause there's always another day coming, but the important thing is that you take the bad with the good and know that an instance of bad doesn't mean the end. 
> 
> But I'd like to think these two tire fires figure their shit out and have a happy relationship in the long run, emotionally constipated morons that they are.


End file.
